


by any other name

by tablrcloth



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Dialogue Heavy, During Canon, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Light Angst, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Personal Growth, Post-Exile Arc on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Talking, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablrcloth/pseuds/tablrcloth
Summary: Tommy and Tubbo talk about what it means to heal, and Tommy finally manages to open up about exile.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 74





	by any other name

**Author's Note:**

> AS. ALWAYS. writing about the characters not the creators!!! i'll take this down if it makes anyone uncomfy <3
> 
> just a note; tommy talks about his suicidal thoughts. PLEASE don't read if that's a trigger for you!!! otherwise, enjoy the read!

“Tubbo,” Tommy says, his voice like a crack in the silence of the darkened room. He can hear rustling in the bed next to him, a quiet acknowledgment of his words. It feels like he’s been staring up at the hotel ceiling for ages, certainly more than an hour, mindlessly fidgeting underneath the duvet on his bed. He’s restless, but not sure what for. “I can’t sleep.”

“I can. Good night.”

“ _Tubbo,”_ he says exasperatedly, and a chuckle rumbles quietly from underneath the bed covers.

“Do you want me to play music?”

“No?”

“Rain sounds?”

“Come on.”

“Just wanna talk?”

“I guess.”

“About what?” Tubbo asks, a yawn permeating his words, slowly sitting up in his bed. Tommy remains with the back of his head pressed against the pillow, hands clasped over his covers like he was dead in a coffin.

“Dunno.”

Tubbo had mentioned feeling lonely lately, and Tommy had seized it as an opportunity to show off his new hotel. Even though Tommy continued living in his house, he opened up his suite to Tubbo for the night. Tubbo said the building was too red (in a _polite_ way, of course). Tommy said it was just right. 

“Mm. I’ll talk for ya, then.” Tommy glances over and watches as Tubbo leans against the headboard, staring out the window. He glances out the window, too; not much of a landscape change, but the stars were beautiful. He couldn’t see the moon from this angle, but he knew it was shining high above their heads. That must mean it’s _very_ late, then. _Curse you, insomnia._

“I’ve started building my wall around Snowchester.”

“What do you need a wall for?”

“They look pretty.”

Tommy scoffs at that, but Tubbo continues on, unbothered. “Puffy came by today aswell. She made me tea.”

“What kind?”

“Blueberry. I added honey.”

“Naturally.”

“She didn’t. She prefers sugar. After we drank tea, we chatted about stuff.”

“What about?”

“I don’t remember. It’s nice not remembering, though. Talking about trivial stuff. _Inconsequential_ stuff. Stuff that isn’t life or death. Where you just act like normal people, I guess.” Tubbo laughs softly at that. “It’s nice being idle. I guess I took it for granted.” 

At Tommy’s silence, Tubbo continues. “After L’manberg blew up, I picked up sewing, did you know? At first I just mended old shirts. Finally fixed a button on my green button down, too. After that, Sam got me a sewing machine and I borrowed some fabric from Eret and started making my own clothes.”

“I noticed your new shirts.”

“Do they make me look dapper?” Tubbo jokes, and the pair laugh. “Jack started painting, too. On a trip over here for vegetables, I got some canvases from Niki for him. He painted some sweet berries for me.”

“The one you hung on your wall?”

“Yeah. I think it looks nice in that spot right by the door. Makes it feel more homely, I think.”

Tubbo drifts into a thoughtful silence after that, and Tommy finally finds the willpower to speak. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You wanted me to talk.”

“Well, yes, but...” he drifts off, unsure of what to say.

“I wanted you to know that healing’s not impossible, Tommy,” Tubbo says softly, and Tommy glances over at him, able to see him clearly in the soft darkness. Tubbo is staring back, blinking slowly.

“I am healing. ‘Course I’m healing.”

Instead of arguing or politely saying _“Really?”_ in that disbelieving tone he always uses when he’s being sarcastic, Tubbo just says, “Okay. I believe you.” 

Tommy hesitates, glancing back at the ceiling. “...No. I- maybe I’m not. I don’t know. I mean, I thought I was- er, I _think_ I am, but then I just...” he gestures. “Everything comes crashing back and it all feels the same. Y’know. Memories.” 

“Want to talk about it?”

“I dunno.”

“I’m your best friend. You can always confide in me.”

 _And yet there was a time that wasn’t true,_ Tommy doesn’t say. Instead, he asks, “Always?” 

“Always. Healing isn’t gonna be easy, Tommy. It’s just taking things as they come. I can tell you’re trying.”

“But it just all feels- it all feels too... real _._ It feels like this is all just a game, just another trap. I don’t want to live my life like that, man. Looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life...” 

“Maybe you need closure,” Tubbo suggests, and Tommy blinks up at the ceiling, processing the words.

“How would I get that?”

“Say goodbye to all the things hurting you, and then never let them hurt you again?”

“Sounds pretentious.”

Tubbo snorts, and Tommy cracks a smile. “Yeah. I guess that could work, Tubbo.”

“Where would we start?” Tubbo asks, and Tommy closes his eyes, thinking. All the things hurting him? Wilbur’s death, L’manberg’s crater, the way Tubbo didn’t look at him the same after exile. Pogtopia, the way Wilbur used to grip his hands too tight, Logstedshire and how Dream always stood too close to him whenever other people were around. Pits in the ground and plains biomes and blackstone bricks, buttons and people standing up too fast. Explosions, smoke, small rooms.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says dully. Now that he laid there thinking about it, it was all too much to fathom, let alone fix.

“Could start with Wilbur,” Tubbo offers, choosing the option for him.

“What is there to say?”

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course I...” _Do? Don’t?_ Tommy didn’t know. “...No. Maybe another day.” 

“Okay,” Tubbo says, and Tommy can see him nodding to himself in the dark. “Whatever you need.”

“Mind if we... talk about... exile?” Tommy asks, and he doesn’t miss the way Tubbo sinks from his headboard and burrows into his covers.

“Okay,” the other boy says quietly, and Tommy shifts so that he can see him better in the dark.

“I don’t blame you, not for any of it.”

“I know. I kind of wish you did.”

“Why?”

“I was stupid enough to fall for Dream’s lies,” Tubbo mutters.

“And I was stupid enough to keep believing Dream was my friend,” Tommy says in return. “It’s manipulation, man. It wouldn’t be manipulation if it didn’t work.”

“I guess. I still feel awful for it.”

“You should. I mean, I feel awful for how I spoke over you when you were only trying to help me,” he adds with a humorless laugh.

“Thank you,” Tubbo says, and their eyes meet. “For understanding, I mean. Do you... you never talked about what happened in exile, and you said you would, but... I mean, you don’t have to-”

“No,” Tommy mumbles. “No, it’s okay. I don’t think it’s something I should keep all to myself, anyway.” The darkness is silent, but not unwelcoming, and Tommy watches Tubbo blink owlishly at him in his peripherals. “The day I got exiled, Dream took me and Ghostbur to a plains biome. He built us a dirt shack, and then he dug a hole and told us to put everything we had inside.”

“I never gave authorization for him to do that,” Tubbo says quietly, and Tommy continues.

“He blew up all our stuff, everything we had. Then, he left. Ghostbur built some nice wood walls and some tents inside the first night. He wanted me to stay with him in there, but I was stubborn and insisted on making my own tent. It never ended up looking as good as his. The next day, Dream showed up again, and forced me to drop everything in another hole. This pattern continued for... I dunno. Days? Weeks? It all blurred together.”

“Tommy,” Tubbo breathes, his voice thick with pity. Tommy can only think of all those other people who would visit him, their eyes filled with sympathy, and how he could never tell if it was genuine compassion or just pity, and so Tommy ignores him.

“I stopped caring after that. Everything I got was just going to be blown up again. Everything felt rather pointless. I started questioning if Dream was really my friend- it was like a constant back and forth of _he’s hurting me_ and _he’s my only friend._ Sometimes I wonder...” Tommy rolls the fabric of his duvet between two fingers, thinking. “I wonder if the reason no one visited was ‘cause of him. I wonder if exile was just his plan all along, for him to rip us apart and control us.” 

“What about the craters?” Tubbo asks softly, and Tommy glances at him. “And the...”

Tubbo doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Tommy to understand. “Well. You know. Life without everyone else in it made it all just so unappealing. I’d go for long walks in the Nether, and... every time I looked down at that lava, I just...” he breathes deeply, trying to fight his voice off from rising in pitch. “And when I did try to fight back against Dream, he finally took everything away. That was the moment I realized. I didn’t want to die, I just... didn’t want to keep living. Thank Prime I realized that was the easy way out,” Tommy says with a smile. “Thank Prime I never go easy.”

Tubbo doesn’t say anything, so Tommy says something in his place. “I guess I just realized that I still hurt people, and I needed to fix that. The easy way out is just to... not do that. The easy way out is to pretend everything’s fine. And easy never changed anything. Leaving without saying goodbye just makes it hurt more.”

“Because of Wilbur?”

Tommy leans his head further back into his pillow. “Yeah, I guess.” He laughs, but it falls flat. “Yeah, that’d explain a lot.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Tubbo says, so softly that Tommy had to strain to hear it. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Me too,” Tommy mumbles.

Not a word passes between them after that, and it only takes minutes for Tommy’s eyes to finally slip close as he falls asleep.

His dreams that night aren’t filled with explosions or smoke or small rooms. Instead, he dreams of L’manberg, of memories equally forgotten and imagined, and he dreams of a family that loves him and he dreams of peace.


End file.
